


Paid in Kind

by folkful



Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [10]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blood, Blood As Lube, Choking, Death Threats, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Rough Oral Sex, Threats of Violence, in a very not good way that almost ends super badly, oh also at one point we got anal sex and anal fingering at the same time, rape as punishment, yes both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkful/pseuds/folkful
Summary: The Dragonborn deals with the owners of the New Gnisis Cornerclub.Part 2 of 2.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ambarys Rendar, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Malthyr Elenil, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Revyn Sadri, Malthyr Elenil/Ambarys Rendar
Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057886
Comments: 171
Kudos: 11





	Paid in Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this apparently didn't take as long as I thought!
> 
> Absolutely heed the tags on this, for sure, no doubt. I want y'all to stay safe, and this definitely goes into territory with the potential to be triggering. If you think this may negatively affect you, please do skip out on it and have a good day/night.
> 
> Wow did I go all in on this, everyone needs a hug by now and one of em ain't gonna get it.  
> In which Ambarys puts himself in increasingly regrettable positions, Malthyr keeps being kind of badass in his own way, and Revyn uh, does his best.
> 
> Vira and Faendal are next up!

The New Gnisis Cornerclub was rarely silent, rarely unlit, and rarely solemn.

It wasn't quiet, tonight, either. There was the creaking of decrepit floorboards, mixing with the sounds of Revyn Sadri's utter despair. Finally, he appeared entirely broken, unable to calm himself, caught in his own head.

It was not unlit, but there were only a few torches, enough to see but nowhere near the warm, orange light that usually characterised the Cornerclub.

What it was, what Joar would think of every time he returned no matter the time of day, was solemn. There was a sadness thickly permeating the room, a sense of finality, that things had changed and would not go back to how they had been.

It must hurt, to be brought this low.

But it was as Joar had planned.

Malthyr Elenil's eyes were on Sadri, sorrowful. But when he noticed he had Joar's attention, he shifted his gaze, speaking for the first time since before he had witnessed his neighbor's violent rape.

"Dragonborn, we...we do not take the cold as easily as you do." His eyes were damp, even if the Nord had barely touched him so far. "It's a cold night, even for Windhelm, it's - please, he would not have asked for the shirt if it was not necessary."

Even now that Joar had beaten and fucked the merchant, put him back in his rightful place, he would not turn soft, would not begin spoiling him. It would lead to nothing but entitlement.

"He brought this on himself. And you," he gestured to Rendar, "brought it on him, too. But I have to thank you; had you not told me so boldly what he'd done, I would never have known."

The barkeep's expression was full of guilt, clearly already knowing this fact. Joar had realised that this was the best way to punish him, more effective than anything he could do to his body. Hurt those he cared for, for his transgressions, and the wall of stoicism began to slip.

"Don't worry, though, I'm finished with him, for now." Joar crouched before Elenil, looking at him as though he wanted to devour him alive. "You need your taste of pain, too."

He tipped Elenil's chin up, pulling him into a kiss that was more painful than pleasurable for the both of them. There was no response in kind from the elf other than a startled yelp, trying ineffectually to move his head back and resist the rough treatment. When Joar withdrew, Elenil's lips looked reddened and sore, contrasting with his red-tinged cheeks in a way that had no business being as intriguing as it was.

Strangely curious, the Nord leaned forward and past the gray-skin's face, biting down on the shell of an ear until the other gasped.

Of all their odd physical differences, elves' ears were the oddest. He wondered if it made them hear differently, if their strange, red eyes saw differently, if they felt harm to their bodies in the same way. In most physical regards, they were lesser, weaker, so it only made sense they may have a different capacity for pain.

Elenil seemed like he was trying hard to stay strong, to support the other two, but he could not hide the fine tremors that caught his body.

"You and Rendar are close, yes?", Joar asked, watching him intently.

"Yes." The elf kept his eyes downcast.

"Are you lovers, as they say around the quarter?"

After a brief, nervous silence, he got a nod.

There was much potential in that, many interesting ways to hurt them. And he knew where he was going to start.

"You should be happy, then." Joar sneered at him. "I'm going to deal with his attitude problem."

Elenil kept his gaze averted, looking deeply tired, sad.

"Please, it's...he's only trying to help."

"If he hadn't tried to help, you would both be in bed right now, sleeping soundly. You have him to blame for what I'll do to you."

The elf shook his head, eyes at last spilling over. Joar stood up, moving to Rendar, mind full of malice that made him feel almost light-headed. There was much he wanted to put him through, put  _ them  _ through, together.

Rendar was drooling through the gag, and clearly mortified by this fact, and Joar gave him a look that was almost amused before untying the knot at the back of the barkeep's head and freeing his mouth. He swallowed, immediately, then tried to find a way to wipe off his chin.

"There's no use in that," the Nord said, as though he were explaining something to a lad. "You'll be even dirtier, soon enough."

He ran a hand through Rendar's hair, tangled and slightly damp. There were little waves in it, when it was like this. He'd never noticed them before.

His other hand found his half-hard cock, thinking about what he was about to do, knowing he was simply preparing to abuse the elf's rude mouth, make him gag on it. He was still slightly sensitive from spilling inside Sadri, but he thought it would only make things better. He would not need the extra stamina he had brought, not yet.

Rendar had caught on to his predicament, and his fiery eyes caught Joar's.

"I told you, if you try, I'll bite it clean off."

Joar met his eyes without hesitation.

"Have you learned nothing? Are you that stupid? I guess I'll spell it out for you. If I feel teeth, at all, I'll break Elenil's fingers."

Rendar's eyes widened, almost too little to be noticed, and from somewhere behind them, Sadri gave a muffled whine into his hands.

"I…" Rendar's voice was horribly abject, mumbling. "I'll do it, just...leave him out of it."

"Oh, I have no intention of leaving him out, but I'll try not to ruin him for you, if you do as you're told."

There were no more words of disrespect, but the disgust of that last statement was clear on the barkeep's face, and Elenil was failing to keep his breathing even, true panic beginning to set inside of him. It had sunk in fully, what was happening, how futile any resistance was, that he was about to be put through the same things he'd only heard of from the other two. That Joar had irreversibly harmed Sadri, body and mind. That he could do the same to them.

Seeing both of them finally fully submit ignited him, like the burn of a strong drink.

There had been enough useless talk for one night. 

"Now, open," he growled. "I'm sure you know how to do this."

Ambarys Rendar did not grant him the courtesy of a response, but he opened up with great reluctance, closing his eyes to evade the shame that festered as he did. Joar did not waste any time, simply wiping the last traces of the oil off his length and then entering harshly. The elf got lucky, because Joar did not feel any sharpness. He was hot and wet around the Nord, not fumbling the way Sadri did.

"See? This is much more agreeable than you running that mouth, disrespecting your betters. In the end, you're just a gray-skin whore who needs to suffer in order to learn. You all do."

He took hold of Rendar's coarse waves, pushing him all the way onto his cock, watched him retch once before trying to swallow around it and control himself. It enveloped Joar's stiff prick perfectly, and he enjoyed knowing he was keeping the elf from breathing, that he held that in his hands in the most vulgar way possible. After a long moment, a game of who would give in and move first, Rendar tried to back off him, opening his glittering eyes in desperation.

Joar held him still for a few seconds longer, and then allowed him to breathe.

"You're better at this than he is." He regarded Sadri momentarily. By now, the merchant had curled in on himself, unable to find warmth, staring out into the empty air. Rendar had to stop himself from speaking again, but the cold, hateful look he gave Joar got the message across. 

Joar's message was clear, too, shoving back inside of the barkeep's mouth, this time fucking it properly, the same way he had fucked Sadri's ass. Expecting it this time, Rendar managed to take it well, taking him into his throat. 

Joar pulled on his hair, intently watching him, purposefully cutting off his air and hitting the back of his throat to make him tear up, loving the vulnerability even though it may only be a physical reaction. He turned to Elenil.

"Keep your eyes on him."

He did so, highly reluctant, likely wanting to spare his lover the embarrassment of being violated before those he knew. So the Nord put on even more of a show, pulling nearly all the way out before sheathing himself inside, pulling out and shoving inside, repeating the motion, so brutal that Rendar's cut-off breaths went wheezy and high-pitched, distressed. 

This new pace did much for his arousal, though, and so he was unable to continue for very long before he came, once more pushing the barkeep onto his cock, choking him and not leaving him with any option except to swallow his hot seed.

Joar withdrew, shoving Rendar away from him so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. He was still coughing and retching, more from the disgust of  _ who  _ he could still taste on his tongue than anything else. The Nord looked at Elenil, gloating.

"Did he ever tell you, how his body reacted to my touch when I had him alone?", he asked, a grin creeping onto his face.

Elenil's expression was pained, and he shook his head gravely.

"I don't...I don't need to know that, and I don't want to, n-not from you. Please."

Joar knelt down in front of the barkeep, staring him down like a wild animal.

"You won't have to hear it from me," he told Elenil. "You'll see it for yourself."

But he was tired after releasing twice, after keeping his focus on the three of them all the while, not giving them a chance to escape. So he grabbed one of the potions he had brought, downing it in one swig, trying to ignore the faint bitterness of its taste. Warmth spread through him steadily, and he inhaled, feeling the same kind of refreshed that one would after dunking their head in water.

As soon as he reached out and wrapped his hand around the barkeep's cock, Rendar's face screwed up in disgust. Joar wanted nothing but to humiliate him, to make sure he remembered this for a long time, and this was the best way, he thought. He was getting out of this with the least pain inflicted on him, and he hoped he realised that. That he felt guilt for it.

"Be still," he warned, spitting on the fingers of his other hand. He nudged the elf's legs apart with his knee, not letting him close them again before he put his slicked index finger against his asshole. The penetration was much gentler than Joar wanted, but this was important, more important than his own temporary enjoyment of it.

He found Rendar's sweet spot, relentless in the assault on his body, in turning it against his mind.

The barkeep would hate himself for this when it was all said and done. 

Rendar had shut his eyes, mouth set in a thin line, refusing to acknowledge the way he stirred despite everything. Joar did not want to give him the chance to retreat into his head, to forget who was touching him.

"Tell me," he said, a spark to his voice not only left by the potion, "what happened after Sadri left Hjerim."

There was an uncertain quiet to the room then, Rendar mouthing something to himself, Elenil simply staring at Joar, appalled. Sadri had fully hidden his face within the shield of his hands. But the barkeep must have learned at least something, because though his words were filled with poorly-hidden rage, they did come. He managed to keep some rare self-control, even now when Joar was making his body feel pleasure as he spoke. Interspersed with little groans and shudders, he told him in short, forcedly neutral sentences about that night. How Sadri had woken them in a state of absolute disrepair, near-impossible to calm down. How he'd slept in the Cornerclub, rather than going back home, how he'd refused to let them aid the burn on his back even though it was clearly agonising.

When he finished speaking, there was a thick silence, broken only by Sadri's mortified weeping. Rendar was stifling his sounds, unable to control the way his cock reacted to Joar's treatment, but seemingly adamant on keeping as much of his pride as possible. He was close, the Nord could tell, but he tried hard to quell it, to put it off.

"Do you want to come?", he asked.

"No." Rendar screwed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth. "I'd rather you kill me."

"Oh, I know. And that's why I'm doing this."

His blunt finger battered against the barkeep's sweet spot, giving no pause, and the wetness seeping from the head of his cock made a lewd, squelching noise as Joar used it to ease his fast jerking. 

Inevitably, Rendar's body took over, and he groaned low in his throat as he spent himself, coating the back of Joar's hand and his own flat stomach.

"How does it feel, gray-skin? You told me of his pain, heard him cry, and you  _ came  _ to it."

Rendar was breathing heavily, but he was trembling, and the Nord could swear he heard a sniffle come from him. He looked as though he wished Joar would have simply buried his dagger in his heart, instead, and as though that would have been less painful.

Joar stood, locked on a new target, moving Malthyr Elenil so that he knelt facing his lover, pushing down on his shoulders until he was on all fours. Then, he oiled his fingers, less than he would have at any other time. The elf deserved the burn.

Elenil was nowhere near as tight as Sadri, and he had the good sense to relax his body as well as he could. Joar's first finger slid into him easily, and so he added another almost immediately, getting a small, startled groan from the elf. Rendar did not have the advantage of his hands, so he could not provide any physical comfort, but he scowled at the Nord.

"Careful," he muttered. Joar stabbed both fingers in hard in response, so forceful that for a moment, Elenil clenched down on them.

"I'll be as careful as I please." He began to press his third finger inside, spreading the elf wide open. "This is a punishment."

Losing some of his composure, Elenil bucked forward to escape him, supporting himself on his lover before finding his position again. Joar gripped on to the flesh of his hip, keeping him from moving again, and callously tore his fingers out of the elf's hole, enjoying the rumbling, desperate noise it caused.

"Spread your legs more," he said, impatient and unwilling to aid him. Elenil brought his face away from his lover's skin, and when he spoke, his voice trembled.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The-the rope is too tight."

It was only about discomfort, Joar guessed, and less about truly being unable to fulfill the command. If he had wanted to obey properly, he would have found some way. But he had not even tried. Shameful. Just like all Dark Elves.

"Have it your way then, slum-dweller."

Instead of spreading him, Joar did the opposite, holding his legs together, kneading ungently at the meat of them. Then, he began to press into him without regard for how it must hurt, with the way he clamped down on him, forcing him to tighten. A low, steady noise came from Elenil's throat, and he tried to muffle it against Rendar's lean leg. Eventually, Joar's heavy sack met the elf's ass-cheeks, and the Nord groaned, satisfied with the clench of the hole. He withdrew almost the entire way, and then slammed back inside. The elf gave a higher, more strained sound.

Sadri sobbed, forcing out a few words in their mother-language that Joar did not understand. But Elenil responded in the common tongue, exhausted and teary-eyed.

"It's not your f-fault." He swallowed once, trying to aid his dry throat. "I - I don't want to hear...any of that."

Joar jabbed into him again, taking hold of him and pulling him back from the other elf, denying him the familiarity.

"It is his fault though, is it not? He should have obeyed me."

There was no reply, but he heard mumbles from the merchant behind them, watery and desolate. He paid him no mind.

He pounded into Elenil harshly, but the elf was too used to cock for his liking. He was clearly in pain, but not nearly enough to be punished that way only. Joar thought for a moment, and then once more screwed one of his fingers in alongside his length. The elf groaned in discomfort, and Joar took it as a sign to move forward, adding one more, stretching him far.

"I - ah! Why are you-"

"Quiet."

The third was an almost impossibly tight fit, so much so that it was almost uncomfortable for Joar, too. Elenil's back trembled with the effort to keep quiet, and Rendar's gaze was aimed like a knife to the Nord's neck. 

When Joar began to move again, he felt warmth against his digits, a small tint of blood showing on his cock on every out-thrust. Compared to the size of a Dark Elf, both his prick and his fingers were large and thick, and the pace and force were severe, forcing Elenil open.

The elf was in mostly silent tears, his resilience still strong, but Joar had not expected him to be weak. Every few thrusts, he would sniffle, or let slip a groan or a whimper. When Joar finally let go of his shoulder, he fell forward onto all fours again, one hand finding Rendar's arm and gripping it. 

Joar knew the barkeep was impulsive, but not that he would be stupid enough to speak now, while his lover was so easily harmed. And yet, it seemed desperation got the better of him. 

"Stop,  _ stop,  _ you're…"

The reason Rendar cut himself off was almost unnoticeable, but Joar had not missed it, the way Elenil squeezed down on the muscle of his arm, likely struggling to speak in his current state. He was present enough to shut Rendar up, but the barkeep had still tried to make demands, and Joar would not ignore that.

Wrapping the hand that was not otherwise occupied around Elenil's neck, he pulled him backwards again, this time with purpose. The hand tightened until he was certain the elf could not draw breath, and then his already harsh thrusts got even harsher. Elenil tried to gasp, but all that came out was a choked gurgle, and when Joar caught Rendar's gaze, daring him to interrupt again, there was true fear in his eyes.

"I'm sick of you," the Nord growled. "Gave you fair chances, too, but you never learn, do you?"

Elenil brought his hands up, to free himself, but he was worn out and Joar was not, so even through the horror of it all he could not break the Nord's grip. Rendar's eyes glittered, and he caved quickly.

"Please,  _ please,  _ don't, I'll stop, please!"

Joar only pulled Elenil's body closer to his own, smelling some kind of oil and second-hand smoke, not entirely unpleasant. The futile struggling and failed attempts to get air, the way the elf involuntarily clenched down on the large intrusion inside him, the terror on Rendar's face, Sadri quietly begging him not to harm the other, it all hit him at once.

He did not let go as pleasure surged through him, sending sparks up his spine, cock pulsing against his fingers as he spilled, Elenil's movements growing weaker with each passing second. He removed the digits, first, wiping blood and come on the elf's discarded shirt. Then, he let go of his throat at last, watching the red marks his hand had left behind as Elenil breathed deeply, coughing and heaving dry, frightened sobs.

"Next time I won't stop until you have a corpse on your hands, Rendar."

He drew his cock out slowly, making Elenil hiss through his teeth. A drop of blood spilled down his swollen hole onto his balls as Joar stood. The Nord's hands were tinged by numbness despite his recently replenished energy, and he felt as though he were wrung out, sated. 

He re-dressed slowly, savoring the moment in spite of the building cold, and with the knife he'd used to threaten so much violence, he cut the bindings around Ambarys Rendar's wrists. Immediately, his hands were on his lover, steadying, reassuring wordlessly.

Sadri's lips were tinged with blue, even more so than normal, and when Joar tipped his face up to meet his eye, his skin was cool to the touch. Perhaps the decision to deny him a shield from Windhelm's brutal cold had been too much, but the elf was alive. It could not be that bad. 

But despite the fear etched into his features, the way he still could not help but cry, when Joar's naturally warm flesh brushed against the skin of Sadri's arm, he shivered, leaning into it. That, if anything, was cause for concern, if Joar had been concerned in the first place. The merchant did not enjoy his touch, by any stretch of the word, and had never sought out his body like this.

He had to help the stiff-limbed elf into his shirt, gathering the rest of his garments and then gathering Sadri into his arms, much like he'd carried Rendar up the staircase a few weeks prior, though this one weighed less. He was not going to leave the merchant here, was not going to let them all be alone here, not after what he'd done. He deserved no comfort. But there was no way in Oblivion the useless thing could walk home on his own.

Now that they were freed, Rendar had wrapped his strong arms around Elenil's still trembling shoulders. The barkeep was the only one meeting Joar's eye, his fire having been mellowed, beaten out of him physically and emotionally. For the night, he did not have the courage to agitate. If the Nord knew him right, he would return to it soon enough. But the silent defeat was satisfying.

"Did you want something, gray-skin?", he asked, obviously trying to provoke in kind. Rendar averted his gaze, refusing to respond, but the way he'd been casting glances at the near-unconscious elf in Joar's arms made things clear.

The way Joar felt kinship with his fellow Stormcloaks, with the Nords of Windhelm, he imagined the elves in the slum felt kinship with each other. Especially with how much they liked to hold the idea that the city's rightful population was doing them some injustice by keeping them at a much-deserved arm's length. 

Not at all keeping Sadri at an arm's length, Joar left the Cornerclub behind, taking the few steps between it and the pawn shop. For the short walk, the night wind blew cold, and the merchant was very much underdressed for it. He was not quite in his right mind either, and so he attempted to press himself against Joar's coat. At the Nord's harsh reprimand, not wanting to get the filth left by the rape on his clothing, he sobbed out an apology, doing his best to obey.

Inside the shop, he set the elf down onto his bed, trailing large, snowy footprints across the room on the way. Not up for doing unpaid favors, his hands found Sadri's cold skin, feeling at his chest through his shirt, his bared, soft cock. The elf tensed, lips trembling, a tear on his cheek half-frozen after bearing the outside. Reactions delayed, he shook his head, panic shooting through him.

"No, no, please, I th-thought you were done," he wept, body trembling under the weight of his frightened breathing. "J-just want to sleep, it-it-"

"I'm not wasting more time on you tonight." Joar was calm where Sadri was in turmoil, unsteady. "As long as you've learned."

The merchant nodded frantically, once again coiling his arms around himself.

"I have, d-don't hurt them again, I'm...I'm begging you."

"You do that a lot, yes." The Nord retracted his touch, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "But I hurt whoever I want. Especially if they anger me. Or if  _ you  _ anger me. Keep that in mind."

Another nod, and Joar was satisfied, turning and making his way back toward the door, but stopping once more at the sight of the forgotten ledger on the counter.

"Don't be lazy, either. You open the store as usual tomorrow." He did not face the elf. "I'll come by to make sure."

Sadri sniffled, and when the hesitant affirmative came, his voice was wavering. But Joar had no doubt he would be obedient.


End file.
